


On a White Horse

by wintercreek



Category: Merlin (BBC), Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Crossover, Gen, OMC - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-25
Updated: 2011-03-25
Packaged: 2017-10-17 06:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Arthur notices is that the horse is a pure, snowy white.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a White Horse

The first thing Arthur notices is that the horse is a pure, snowy white. So is the rider's livery.

"How do you suppose he accomplished that?" he asks Merlin from their position on the battlements. "Even if he stopped to wash his horse in the river, and his own clothes too, I suppose, they would have gotten dusty over the remaining half-league."

"Hmm," Merlin agrees. "Odd." He's narrowing his eyes at the rider, probably in suspicion. Arthur approves.

"Why don't I ride out?" Merlin asks suddenly. "You know, see what I can learn about him. About his cleanliness."

So the second thing Arthur notices is that Merlin's being stranger than usual.

"Or not," Arthur says. "He's almost _here_ , Merlin. Just go down to the courtyard and be ready to take his horse, like normal, all right?"

"Erm, yeah," Merlin mutters.

Arthur shrugs and gives Merlin a gentle shove. Together they clatter down the stairs and out the grand doors to the courtyard, arriving early enough to compose themselves before the mysterious rider enters.

When Merlin goes to take his horse, the rider waves him away. Arthur could swear that the horse jerks its reins back from Merlin's hand as well, but that's clearly foolish. And it's surely not possible that the horse's bridle has no bit. Arthur's eyes haven't adjusted to the sun yet.

"Greetings," the man says. "I am Herald Kevleigh of Valdemar, envoy of Queen Selenay, and this is my companion Swyven. We come to treat with you."

Arthur straightens up. "I am Prince Arthur of Camelot, and I bid you welcome to my father's court." He eyes Kevleigh's horse, wondering if its introduction means he should include Merlin in the formalities. "Ah, this is my manservant, Merlin," he adds awkwardly.

Kevleigh swings off the horse and bows to Arthur and then equally deeply to Merlin. "Prince. Manservant. Is that a title that has changed meaning over time?" he asks in an aside to Merlin.

"Uh," Merlin looks confused; at least something is normal.

"Please, you must be tired," Arthur says, stepping forward. "Merlin will take your horse, and–" Merlin is making some odd gestures, and Arthur actually stops speaking to peer at him. "–and someone will–"

"Only show me to the stables," Kevleigh says, frowning. "I'll care for Swyven myself."

Behind Kevleigh's back, Merlin's face is full of exasperation.

"Right." Arthur frowns too. "Would you like Merlin to take some of your bags, then?"

"Certainly," Kevleigh says, handing Merlin a single pack and waiting for his nod before adding another. "It is generous of you to assist me so," he says.

Merlin is busy arranging the pack straps and doesn't answer beyond a nod.

Arthur gives up and leaves it there, going to call for a banquet.

*

Arthur has stopped counting strange things about this envoy by the time they assemble in the great hall for dinner. Kevleigh invites Merlin to sit at the high table, and Arthur permits it because he can't see a way out that won't cause a diplomatic incident. Fortunately, his father is off on a hunt and can't provide his opinion.

Kevleigh also seems determined to include Merlin in discussion of Camelot's preparedness for assault and defense, whether the topic is wild beasts, armies, or sorcerer assassins. Valdemar has recently dealt with all three, although the wild beasts are mostly confined to their western border. It seems their woods produce creatures as troubling as those that roam the forest near Camelot. Arthur finds this strangely comforting.

What Arthur can't determine to his satisfaction is where, precisely, Valdemar lies in relation to Camelot. Kevleigh tells them of a conquering army and requests an alliance, but when Arthur cannot gauge the distance he'd be sending his men he's reluctant to discuss such things with any seriousness.

"Surely the distance is of no import when you have such power available to you," Kevleigh says, looking incongruously at Merlin.

Merlin makes a face of elaborate uncertainty. "Um, you see–" he begins.

Kevleigh's face has gone distant, as though he's listening to someone else. When he turns his attention back to Merlin, his face is contrite. "I do beg your pardon. Swyven has explained everything to me."

Arthur sets down his wine goblet. "I'm sorry," he says, "did you just say that your horse explained everything?"

"Oh dear," Kevleigh says. "One forgets just how far Out-Kingdom one is, sometimes. Perhaps you could call for more wine, Manservant Merlin, while I make things clear to your prince?"

"Manservant is not a title, you know," Arthur says in his dangerously conversational voice. "And Merlin can fetch us more wine himself. I think we've indulged him long enough."

Kevleigh looks dumbstruck. "Merlin," he says, "in my land your Gifts would be valued. You would be Chosen and esteemed." Arthur can hear the capital letters in his voice, even if he doesn't know what they signify. The weight of titles translates even when they themselves do not.

Merlin stammers something to Kevleigh — Arthur's really not listening anymore — and disappears. Poaching his manservant! Unacceptable behavior, to try and steal the prince's personal servant this way. And by wooing him with treatment above his station. Shocking.

"In the old days, when King Valdemar was but Baron Valdemar," Kevleigh begins, and Arthur brings his attention to bear and lifts his wine goblet. He needs to know what this ridiculous kingdom is about, so he can tell Merlin not to be tempted by it.

*

In the morning, Arthur has a splitting headache and no clear memory of last night's conversation.

Merlin is disgustingly cheerful, opening the drapes with no regard for Arthur's sensitive eyes. "Morning! It's a beautiful day," he says.

"Ugh, leave me here to die in peace," Arthur mumbles. "What happened last night?" He's concerned by his own lack of control; he hasn't indulged like that in years.

"Um, an envoy visited, seeking an alliance," Merlin tells him, fidgeting with the hem of his tunic. "Some minor barony, not sure where. You sent him packing."

Arthur drags himself upright. "I did? After one night?" He groans. His father will have his head for rudeness to a guest.

"Oh, no, I mean that he, well. He had to be going. But you didn't promise him anything, or give any concessions, or, you know. Things like that. He left on quite good terms, I thought." Merlin's fussing with Arthur's breakfast, face turned away. "Here, I brought you something simple. Bread and cheese."

Arthur takes a piece of bread and bites it gingerly. "All right, then." He has the nagging sense that he learned something important last night. "Are you sure that's all that happened? No surprising revelations?"

"No?" Merlin says. He wrinkles his nose. "I'll get you a bath, shall I?" He's turning away when it comes to Arthur.

"He tried to steal you away!" Arthur cries, then winces and presses a hand to his temple. "That envoy, what was his name? He offered you a job, didn't he."

Merlin nods cautiously. "But I didn't take it. I'm still here."

Sighing, Arthur smiles. "You are. You're still here. Let this be a lesson to you, Merlin."

"A lesson?" Merlin tenses.

"Never trust a man who travels without servants of his own," Arthur declares. He nibbles at a piece of cheese. "Still, I do wonder how he kept his clothing so white with no help. And that horse!"

Merlin seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. "It was a nice horse," he ventures.

"Well, I suppose there's no harm in fastidiousness. Speaking of which, how about that bath?" Arthur says, and Merlin scurries out of the room. Arthur permits himself a satisfied grin: Merlin may be mediocre, but he's both too loyal and too lazy to be recruited away by anyone with livery like that.


End file.
